


Give Nature Her Ransom

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Character impregnated by spiders, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Fisting, M/M, Misuse of biology facts, Mpreg, Oral Sex, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Traumatic spider birth, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: Elias strips off his gloves and zips up his trousers, runs a gentling hand down over Jon’s flank.“Well,” he says. “It seems we’ve discovered some of the side effects.”“What’s happening to me?” Jon tries to make it a demand, but it comes out more as a plea, with his trousers around his ankles and his entire body trembling.“Something rather interesting, if I’m correct.”*Something rather interesting happens to Jon in the tunnels below the Institute.





	Give Nature Her Ransom

**Author's Note:**

> I had a difficult week, and decided to take my stress out on a fictional character. Sorry, Jon! Please heed the tags and warnings. 
> 
> Alternative summary: "Local asexual grump gets turned into relentless cumslut by spider dicks."
> 
> Thanks as always to my amazing beta [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum), who provides wonderful feedback and writes amazing fics. Special thanks this time for suggesting one of the filthiest parts! 
> 
> Also thanks to the discord crew for inspiring and encouraging me to write this. You are the best kind of enablers.

_“The fullness ends when we give Nature her ransom, when we make children for her.” _  
― John Updike, "Rabbit, Run"

The tunnels are cold, and dark but for the yellow beam of Jon’s torch. Detritus shifts under his feet as he walks, crumbled cement and old worm husks, long sucked dry. He tries not to think about whether the spiders that ate them are still down here. Somewhere, water is dripping. Somewhere, the thing that killed Sasha is still trapped and raging in a prison made by a book. Jon wonders if he could Know where it is, then decides he doesn’t want to. 

He isn’t sure where he is, precisely. Nothing works quite the same down here, including his ability to Know, and apparently his sense of direction. At least these days he can be fairly sure the chalk marks he’s leaving won’t shift. He glances around nervously at the openings he passes, shining the light down each, looking for anything unusual. An unseen brick snags his toe and he swears, lurching forward and almost dropping his torch. 

“Stupid!” he hisses, though he’s not quite sure if the words are directed at the brick, at his failure to notice it, or at the fact he’s down here at all. He hasn’t been in the tunnels for a long time. Not since they were scheming against Elias, hiding down here from his Sight while they planned to remove him from the Institute. He’s not sure why he’s down here now, if he’s honest. It was an odd impulse that struck him earlier, standing outside in the drizzle smoking a miserable cigarette. He’d call it a whim, if it didn’t feel so much like the urge to Know. 

Jon could justify the feeling, reason that there might be something useful down here. Maybe something Leitner left behind, some knowledge beyond what he gave Jon in their brief meeting. But he’s long past the belief that people like Leitner had any deeper understanding of the fears than anyone else, and he’s long past denying the instincts that drive him. He’s down here because there is something to find, to Know, and he cannot deny the draw. 

He can only hope whatever it is makes itself apparent, before he has to wander around here too long.

He doesn’t hear it for a while, past the background sounds of air currents and water and his own feet scuffing the debris. And when he does, he half thinks he’s imagining it; a quiet click of something against stone. He holds his breath and listens, and it comes again, a noise so faint it’s almost not there. His heart rate jumps. He thinks of the not!Them, of the Flesh, of other things that could be hiding in the darkness. He isn’t sure how much he can really be harmed these days, but he doesn’t want to find out. He needs to leave.

He needs to _ Know. _

He keeps walking, silent as he can, trying to keep his breath noiseless. The torch beam will give him away to anything with eyes, but there’s nothing to be done about that. The sound is coming from ahead of him, he thinks. It sounds like someone scuffing stones together, a sharp, scraping sound. Ahead of him, the passageway comes to an abrupt stop. Jon halts, his pulse racing, listening for direction. There it is, _ click-scrape_, coming from the farthest left hand passage. 

Jon creeps up to the opening, keeping the torch beam pointed at his feet. It occurs to him that this is monumentally stupid almost a full second before he ducks around the corner and points his torch down the tunnel.

The thing he illuminates has a cluster of black eyes that shine in the torchlight, and too many legs that end in hooked, chitinous feet. It is pale, like something bred in a cave, its legs and its swollen abdomen bristling with colorless hairs. It shuffles around to face the light, and its feet _ click-scrape _ against the stone floor. Its mouthparts unfold around translucent, hypodermic fangs. It would be accurate to call it a spider, but that wouldn’t entirely do it justice. 

Jon bites off the scream that rises in his throat. He isn’t entirely sure this thing can see him. It might simply be photosensitive, or reacting to sound. He drops the torch beam back to the floor, plunging the spider into near darkness. Jon takes a step backwards, carefully, holding his breath. And then he hears from behind him, _ click-scrape, _ and oh god, of course there’s more than one of these things. 

He turns his head slowly and sees the shifting bulk emerging from the right side passage, easily the size of a large dog. Adrenaline surges and Jon doesn’t question it, just turns and runs, hearing the _clickclickclick _ of monstrous legs scuttling after him, rapid and purposeful. He sprints with no thought for where he’s going, _ away _ the only thing that matters, and he almost thinks he’s gaining ground when his foot catches on a stone and he goes down hard. 

The ground slams into him and his breath whooshes from his lungs with a grunt, his torch rattling across the floor. Precious, vital seconds lost, and Jon whines with despair, scrambling desperately to his feet. Too late, as hot pain lances through the back of his thigh. He screams, then, and wrenches away, as the fangs tear his flesh. The _ clickclickclick _ does not resume in his wake, but he doesn’t have time to wonder why. 

Jon only gets a few dozen strides, limping and stumbling, before the injured leg gives way under him. He has a moment to curse the torn muscles before he feels that same weakness spreading through his other limbs, making them leaden, too heavy to lift. He slumps to the floor of the passage, his skull thumping back onto the stone. He can’t even turn his head as he hears the _ click-scrape _ approach, and he realizes now why it let him go. Just giving time for the venom to take effect. 

He can still breathe, but he can’t open his mouth to scream, his throat working uselessly. He can’t blink, and his eyes are already watering. He can, he realizes, still feel the cold stone of the floor against his back. Not insensate, then, simply paralyzed. He will feel it, when the spider begins to eat him. 

_ Click-scrape _

_ Click-scrape _

Jon spares a moment to wonder if these things behave like normal spiders, injecting enzymes to liquify their prey’s interior, or if spiders this size have a more mammalian bite-and-chew process. He might laugh at the fact that a spider’s going to be his end after all, if he could. Hysteria is scratching at the edges of his thoughts. 

_ Will they find know what happened to me? _ he wonders. _ Martin, or any of them. Can Elias See me down here? God if you can you smug bastard you’d better do something. _

Elias can’t, of course. That’s the whole point of the tunnels. Nobody’s going to save him. He doesn't even have his voice, the only weapon he's ever had. And as the spider’s pale bulk shuffles up over his body, its thorax and abdomen sliding intimately over his torso, he realizes that he wouldn’t close his eyes if he could. Even now, he wants to Know. 

The spider’s head comes close to his, its eyes catching the light of his fallen torch. Its mouthparts wave obscenely, and its thick, lumpy pedipalps touch his face. Jon feels a wave of nausea roll through him, and he hears himself panting harshly. The pedipalps continue stroking over his cheeks, his neck, for a few moments, a grotesque parody of a caress. Then it continues moving, its legs _ click-scrape _ shuffling it further up until its milky underbelly looms above him. 

Something unhinges at the juncture of the spider’s thorax and abdomen, and an appendage emerges, pale and fleshy and glistening with fluid. It is perhaps a foot long when it unfolds, thick and wet and moving slowly, snakelike, as if searching. The thing shuffles forward further, and its member hovers over Jon’s face, dripping thick fluid onto his lips. Jon can’t help the quiet whimper that escapes him.

He tries desperately to turn his head, to move, to do _ anything, _but it’s useless. The appendage touches his face, slick and squirming. Presses against his mouth, nudging at the gap between his lips and he can’t stop it from parting them, from pushing between them. All he can do is breathe through his nose as the length fills his mouth, stretching his jaw and pressing into the back of his throat. The taste is acrid and sickening and the fluid seeping from the appendage runs down his throat until he’s almost choking, swallowing desperately around it. The creature’s bulk settles above him, seemingly content. 

The appendage continues its snaking motion in his mouth, its head twisting and writhing against the back of his throat, pushing its way further and further down. Jon feels it pressing into his esophagus and catalogues the sensation with an eerie detachment. He should be panicking, he knows. He is still terrified, but there is something muted about it, as if he’s detached from the fear. A strange lassitude is falling over him, as if his body and brain have accepted what’s happening and are going along with it. Even when he hears the _ click-scrape _ come from down the passageway, and realizes that the second spider has joined them, he can’t rouse more than a faint thrill of terror. 

He feels the second spider exploring the lower half of his body, its pedipalps moving over his legs and belly and groin like a dog sniffing for food. It seems to find what it’s searching for, and after a few moments Jon feels another appendage snaking between his thighs, prodding at his buttocks. That brings the fear into sharp focus, and Jon hopes desperately that these things don’t understand clothing. That hope doesn’t last long as he feels a hard tug around his crotch, and then the sound of ripping fabric, as it tears right through his trousers. Jon shudders, swallowing around the length pushing relentlessly into his throat. 

The second appendage goes back to prodding at his buttocks, nudging them apart and squirming between. His underwear is intact, but it slips easily aside as the thing probes at him, its head writhing anxiously against his anus, nudging at the tight muscle. Jon hears a whimper escape him. The member in his mouth is huge, filling it so entirely he can scarcely breathe. The thought of something similar going inside him from the other end is - 

He doesn’t get time to consider it as the head pushes eagerly inside him. It is just as slick and slippery as the one dripping fluids down his throat, but that doesn’t stop him from whining in pain as it forces him open, an agonizing, burning stretch that feels like it might tear him in half. He can feel it, god, _ moving _ inside him, going deeper, stretching him as it goes. The one in his mouth shifts, as if encouraged by the sounds he’s making, and it slips further down his throat, its bulk constricting his windpipe until he’s suffocating, desperately gasping for air that isn’t coming, stars bursting in his vision. 

The thing buried in his arse twists deeper, deeper than he thought possible, and in a horrifying moment pleasure spikes through the pain. A strangled moan rasps from his abused throat, flexing around the length that fills it. Arousal jolts through Jon as the appendage writhes inside him, setting his nerve endings on fire. He can feel his cock hardening, humiliating whimpers escaping him. He is lightheaded and dizzy, unable to do anything but lie there and let it happen, the spiders shuffling above him, soft, translucent hairs bristling against his skin. 

Jon has no concept of time’s passage while he lies there, it might be minutes or hours or days these things keep him impaled, helpless and lethargic, his body a boneless vessel for their alien desire. He thinks a normal person might have died from lack of oxygen, but he simply floats, his mind hazy and slow. 

He’s roused from his torpor as the appendage in his throat begins to pulse, flexing in slow, rhythmic waves. The best comparison his dazed thoughts can assemble is _ peristalsis, _ and he’s beginning to consider how that’s _ not quite right, _when the member in his arse begins pulsing as well and he loses his train of thought. It pumps rhythmically inside him, sending waves of shameful arousal through his body, starting slow and gradually growing faster, as the length in his throat does the same. Jon is whimpering breathlessly through his bruised, overstuffed throat, his cock twitching frantically. 

With a final, deep throb the appendage in his arse erupts, flooding his already full insides with liquid heat, and that’s enough to tip Jon over the edge, his cock jerking against nothing as he comes. The member in his mouth does the same, so far down his throat he can’t even choke on it, pulsing warm fluid into his belly. Jon is moaning with distress and rapture, tears streaming from his eyes, limp as a ragdoll while they fill him entirely. 

Eventually the movement stops, and both appendages slowly withdraw, leaving his orifices bruised and gaping and feeling desperately empty. Jon sees the one above his face fold back under its chitinous plate as the spider shifts its weight. _ Click-scrape, click-scrape _ as both of them move off his body. 

_ Maybe they’ll leave now, _ he thinks hazily. _ Maybe that’s all they wanted. _

They don’t, of course. They linger, scuttling up and down the passage, as if patrolling. Every so often one of them returns to Jon; touching him with their pedipalps, hovering over him expectantly, before moving away again. 

_ God, what more can they possibly want from me? _

He lies there for what feels like a very long time, despair and lassitude washing over him in waves, aching and exhausted. The only thing that tells him he hasn’t been down here for days is that the batteries in his torch haven’t given out yet, its beam still steady. At last, with a faint thrill of hope, he realizes that he can blink, a blessed relief to his sore, gritty eyes. He gradually begins to feel his body come back under his control, allowing him to twitch his fingers and shift his neck from its painful angle. Jon moves slowly, minutely, to avoid attracting the spiders’ attention. He has the horrible feeling they want to keep him here, that they’re _ tending _ to him in some grotesque way, and the last thing he needs is to be bitten again. 

Jon waits, gradually testing his limbs as the spiders move around. His left leg is sore and stiff where it was bitten, but he doesn’t think it’s too bad. He knows he’ll only get one chance, so he watches cautiously as the creatures move in and out of his field of vision. He just needs the two of them to move away at the same time, in the same direction, far enough to give him a head start. Finally, he sees his chance, as both spiders _ click-scrape _ down the passage together, scuttling and searching. They continue moving, farther, farther, almost out of his sight in the dark. 

Carefully, quietly, Jon rolls over and reaches for his torch. Holds his breath as his hand closes around it, and he comes up onto his knees. He listens for an instant, _ click-scrape, click-scrape, _ still faint and distant, and stands up. Every nerve and muscle in his body protests, and Jon grits his teeth, ignoring them, and begins to walk. Slowly, placing one foot silently in front of the other, fighting down the urge to run. He gets all the way around the next corner before he hears the urgent _ clickclickclick _of the creatures behind him beginning their pursuit, unwilling to lose their - to lose him. 

Now Jon runs, pushing down the pain in his left leg and shining his torch frantically at the walls, looking for a mark he’s left. At last he spots one, an arrow pointing the way out, and his heart leaps. He runs, the _ clickclickclick _ following but not gaining on him, stalling and hesitant as the creatures try to trace his route. He can outrun them, he almost outran them last time and he can do it this time and _ he’s getting out of here. _

At last the tunnels start to look familiar again and Jon breathes a sigh of relief. A little longer and he hears the _ clickclickclick _fall away behind him as the spiders retreat to their own territory, but Jon doesn’t stop running until he’s at the trapdoor and climbing out into the Archives. He slams the trapdoor shut, then collapses onto the floor, struggling to regain his breath as sobs threaten to rack his body. 

Jon pulls himself together with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t stop here. Anyone could walk in, and he doesn’t want to explain his ripped trousers and the...fluids. He gets to document storage without seeing anyone. Strips off his clothes with shaking hands and cleans himself off with some wet wipes and a towel before dressing in fresh clothing. He should really take a shower, but those are upstairs, and someone could walk in on him. It can wait. For now, he needs to - to what? Warn people not to go into the tunnels? Well yes, of course, but… 

He sighs. He knows what he’s going to do.

Jon loathes this about himself, that he still thinks to turn to Elias for help, for explanations. He should have learned long ago that at best Elias’ assistance is a double edged sword. Part of Jon still regrets that they didn’t get rid of him permanently when they had the chance, while the rest of him is pathetically grateful to have Elias back at the head of the Institute - dangerous, yes, but familiar - rather than Peter Lukas. _ Better the devil you know. _

He makes his way up to the first floor, and doesn’t knock before he walks into Elias’ office. Elias looks up at him with a bland smile, his eyes flickering over Jon, deconstructing him in an instant. No doubt he sees Jon’s red rimmed eyes, the bruising around his mouth, the way he’s favoring his left leg. No doubt he Saw how Jon looked as he emerged from the tunnels. 

“Jon, how nice to see you.” Jon ignores the fake pleasantries.

“There’s something in the tunnels,” he says. His voice is weak and rasping, but he forces the words out. “Some sort of - of Web creatures. Spider things. Two of them attacked me while I was down there, and I barely got away. I don’t know if there are others. We need to make sure that the Institute is secure. If those things got up here somehow - ”

“Jon, please, slow down,” Elias says. “Why don’t you start from the beginning. What were you doing down in the tunnels?” 

“I, uh, I was searching for anything Leitner might have left down there. Anything useful.”

“I see. And if I may ask, why were you _ really _ down there?”

Jon glares at him for an instant, and then shrugs. No point in dissembling.

“I - I don’t know, if I’m honest. I felt like I should go down there. Like there was something to Know.”

“And did you find something?”

“I - ” Jon feels his face flushing as he realizes that yes, he did. Something to Know, to _ experience. _ Elias gets to his feet, walks slowly around the desk to Jon, taking advantage of every additional inch of height he has. Jon isn’t feeling entirely himself yet, still lightheaded and unreal, and his breath quickens as Elias looms over him. Elias’ voice is strangely gentle when he speaks, his eyes fixed on Jon’s.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, Jon? And then we can decide what to do about it.”

For a moment, Jon considers the lies and half truths he could tell, what he should reveal and conceal. But he wants Elias’ help, or something akin to it, and really there’s never been any point lying to Elias. He has his own motives, but Elias may be the only person who’s accepted everything about Jon, no matter how horrifying.

So Jon...tells him. In far more detail than he expected to, right down to the sensations of it, the hazy torpor, the aching arousal. The way he couldn’t quite feel as afraid as he knew he should. He starts talking, and it all simply spills out of him, as if compelled, despite the pain in his throat and the effort it takes to speak. 

“Hmm.” Elias taps his finger against his chin thoughtfully. “There are chemicals that repress the fear response and increase arousal. Oxytocin comes to mind. I wonder if there might have been an analogue in the venom - or the, ah, other fluids?”

Jon shudders a little. He feels weak and exposed, but also oddly relieved. Elias might be a monster, but so is Jon. And if there’s one thing he can depend on, it’s that Elias will never pity him. 

“So what now?” Jon asks. He doesn’t say _ what did they do to me? _ or _ what’s inside me now? _ He isn’t sure he’s ready to think about that. Elias smiles, calm and confident. The smugness of that smile usually infuriates Jon, but right now he can’t help finding it reassuring, because it means Elias is in control of the situation. 

“You’ll need to be examined physically, as soon as possible.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Jon says quickly, sick anxiety running through him at the thought.

“I’m afraid it is, Jon. You heal quickly, but there may be side effects. Physical examination is the first step. We can take you to a doctor, or I can perform the exam?”

“You?” Jon feels his face coloring again. 

“I’m not a doctor, but we’re not dealing with typical illness or injury, are we?”

“Fine,” Jon concedes. “No doctors. You can...examine me.”

“Very well,” says Elias. “Sit down.”

Jon sits nervously as Elias pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, and takes out a penlight. He considers it best not to ask why Elias has disposable gloves in his desk drawer. Elias comes and stands over him, and shines the light in his eyes. 

“Hmm,” he says. “Your pupils are dilated. Slow response to light as well. I suspect whatever substance affected you is still in your system.”

Jon could have told him that. His thoughts are still hazy and scattered, that strange, heavy lassitude still creeping at the edges of his consciousness now the adrenaline of his escape has worn off. It’s difficult to keep things in focus. Elias’ hands go to the sides of his neck, palpating gently at his bruised throat. It hurts, but there’s something comforting about the touch, something appealing. Jon tilts his head back, exposing more of his throat. Elias makes a low sound, and his thumb brushes over Jon’s jaw. 

“Open your mouth,” he instructs. “Wide as you can.”

Jon does, the raw skin at the corners stretching painfully. Flattens his tongue as Elias shines the light into his throat. Elias tuts quietly, runs a finger around the inside of Jon’s cheek while Jon tries to ignore how the intrusion makes saliva well up under his tongue. Finally, Elias releases his grip on Jon’s neck. 

“A lot of bruising and abrasions. Nothing that won’t heal.”

“Fine,” says Jon. “Are you finished? There are more important things to deal with.” He’s feeling restless and uncomfortable, like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. He needs to go and - and lie down.

“I’m afraid I still need to complete the examination.”

Jon feels his face go even hotter, his stomach lurching. 

“It was the same - type of creature,” he protests. “The effect won’t have been any different. It will heal, as you said.”

“Jon,” Elias says, gently reproving. Jon swallows, heat prickling down his spine.

“Right,” he says hoarsely. He stands up, his heart racing, his hands trembling. Elias instructs him in a neutral tone to lower his trousers and bend over, and he does, bracing his hands on Elias’ desk. 

“It’s all right, Jon,” Elias tells him. Jon grits his teeth.

“Easy for you to say.”

He hears Elias go to one knee behind him, and then his gloved hands are on Jon’s buttocks, spreading them apart. There’s a moment of resistance as he does, a sticky sensation despite Jon having cleaned himself, as if the fluid that filled him is seeping out. Jon shivers. One gloved finger presses in between his cheeks, stroking carefully over his anus. The flesh is tender and sore, and Jon can’t help the soft gasp that escapes him. 

“Almost there,” says Elias soothingly, and his finger slips in easily, Jon’s hole still stretched and slippery. Jon whimpers at the probing touch, his insides bruised and raw, but he feels so _ empty, _he needs - 

“Elias...” he moans, and pushes back against the probing finger. 

“Jon, are you quite all right?”

“I...I feel - I don’t know. Please, I need - ” Jon’s heart is pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He can’t explain this, he doesn’t want to, he just wants _ more. _

“I see,” Elias breathes, and of course he does, he always bloody Sees. Jon gasps in frustration as the finger withdraws, and then sighs with relief as three more replace it, twisting and scissoring inside him. He pushes his hips back, urging Elias deeper, and when a fourth finger presses inside he moans.

“You’re so loose,” Elias murmurs. “So wet inside. I could put my entire hand in you, couldn’t I?”

Jon whimpers, imagining it, Elias’ hand impaling him all the way to the wrist, to the elbow, fucking him so deep inside. His cock is throbbing with arousal already.

“Later,” says Elias, sliding his fingers back out. Jon groans. “For now, I think I’d prefer to get my cock inside you.”

“Please…” Jon gasps. Anything, _ anything, _ he just needs it in him, god, what’s wrong with him, what’s happening to him? His head is swimming, his face burning and his whole body trembling with need. He hears Elias unzip his trousers, feels Elias’ legs lining up against his and then finally the nudge of Elias’ cock against his eager hole, sinking into him in a single, smooth motion until Elias’ hips are flush against his arse. Elias circles his hips slowly, and Jon whines, pushing back against him. 

“Elias,” he groans. “God, please.”

“Of course, Jon,” Elias says smoothly, though there’s a tiny catch in his voice. “Whatever you need.”

Elias anchors Jon with one hand on his hip, and starts fucking him, hard and deep. Jon moans at every stroke, every thrust of Elias’ cock inside him. It doesn’t fill him, but it makes him feel less empty, less lost and despairing. Elias’ other hand wraps around Jon’s aching cock, fisting it in time to his thrusts. He presses close and Jon feels a thrill at Elias’ warmth laying across his back, Elias kissing and biting at the base of his neck. Jon twists his head around and kisses him, deeply, loving the feel of Elias’ tongue twining with his, hot, wet muscle licking into his mouth. 

Jon’s arousal is at fever pitch, his cock is throbbing and desperate but he can’t quite get there, his climax tantalizingly out of reach. 

“Please, please,” he moans against Elias’ mouth, pushing his arse back against Elias’ cock as hard as he can, frantic. Elias gives a few more deep, brutal thrusts and then comes. His semen floods Jon’s body with heat, pulsing through him with aching pleasure, and his cock jerks in Elias’ fist as he orgasms, gasping and whining. Elias’ hand closes over the head of Jon’s pulsing cock, capturing as much ejaculate as he can, and then his gloved fingers are pushing into Jon’s mouth, feeding him his own semen, thick and bitter, underlaid with the taste of rubber. Jon swallows it greedily, suckling at Elias’ long fingers, feeling his throat flex hungrily as Elias’ fingertips stroke the back of his tongue.

Jon moans with loss as Elias’ fingers leave his mouth, as Elias’ softening cock slips out of his arse. Elias strips off his gloves and zips up his trousers, runs a gentling hand down over Jon’s flank. 

“Well,” he says. “It seems we’ve discovered some of the side effects.” 

“What’s happening to me?” Jon tries to make it a demand, but it comes out more as a plea, with his trousers around his ankles and his entire body trembling. 

“Something rather interesting, if I’m correct.” 

“Elias!” Jon snarls, trying to pull his clothes back into array. It’s difficult to be properly indignant when your boss has just fucked you senseless, and you’re already starting to wish he’d do so again. He needs what dignity he can grasp. 

“I think you should come home with me, Jon. You’re in no fit state to see other people at the moment. And I can help you more effectively in my home.”

Jon can’t argue that the thought of running into any of the others is too much right now. The thought of them asking questions, probing, _ sympathizing_. God, no. Going to Elias’ home feels like a trap, but it isn’t as if he has much of a choice. This isn't the sort of situation he could impose on Georgie, even if she was speaking to him, and he doesn’t think crawling back to his own near-abandoned flat is an option. Somehow, he has the feeling that being alone would be a bad decision.

“Fine,” he snaps, and Elias smiles.

“I'll explain my thoughts about your...condition, on the way.”

In the back of the large car Elias summons, Jon fights the urge to press close to him, to feel his warmth and inhale the smell of him. Instead he grits his teeth and sits as far away as possible, pushed up against the window. 

“All right,” he says. “Explain.”

“I believe that you may be, essentially, pregnant. Or to be more precise, gravid, as you don’t possess a uterus that I’m aware of.”

Jon feels sick numbness settle over him. It’s not surprising, exactly. He’s seen _ Alien. _ But to have it confirmed, made _ real, _ is nauseating. He swallows the bile rising in his throat. 

“Those...things intended to use me as an - an _ incubator?” _

“In point of fact I believe they _ are _ using you as an incubator. However between us, I’m quite confident we can handle the situation.”

“So how do we make me...not pregnant?”

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“What?!”

“You went into the tunnels this evening to Know something, Jon. Do you really want to cut the experience short?”

Jon opens his mouth to insist that of _ course _ he does, anything else is unthinkable, and realizes with mounting horror that something in him is deeply, unfathomably _ curious _ about this. _ When will you ever have an experience like this again? _it murmurs in the back of his brain. 

“I - how do I know this won’t kill me? I don't think people are intended to - to gestate spider monsters!” Panic is plucking at the fringes of his consciousness.

“There’s very little that can kill an avatar,” Elias assures him, a note of pride in his voice. “We don’t know how this situation will culminate, of course, and very possibly it might kill a normal human, but I expect you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jon mutters. 

“It’s your decision, of course. However it is a singular opportunity. And I would be there with you, every step of the way.”

Elias’ tone is soft and persuasive, and Jon feels a humiliating flush of warmth at the promise. 

“All right,” he says. “Let’s say I agree to this - how long is it going to take? I can’t afford to take an extended leave from work.”

“Every mother’s dilemma,” Elias says with a smirk. Jon rolls his eyes; the man really does think he’s funny. “However you said that the...creatures lingered around you in the passage, as if they were attending to you. I imagine if it was going to take more than a few days, they would have relocated you somewhere more remote. Animals tend to be very protective about their offspring, even perversions of nature.”

Jon shudders, remembering the creatures’ careful attention afterwards, the almost gentle touch of their pedipalps. 

“And the...other side effects?” Jon feels his cheeks color, remembering how desperately he begged Elias to fuck him, scant minutes ago. He can smell Elias from here, the tang of his cologne and beneath it, a very faint, salt-and-oil scent that Jon has never noticed before, but which is utterly tantalizing. It is, he thinks, the scent of Elias’ skin, and the intimacy of that realization sends a tremor through him. Elias is watching him steadily.

“I mentioned oxytocin. Dulls fear response and increases arousal. A good way to prevent your...incubator, from struggling, even when the paralysis wears off. Many species also mate repeatedly over a short period, to help the breeding to, ah, _ take_.”

“To take,” Jon repeats flatly. 

“I can only speculate, of course.” Elias says, his eyes traveling slowly up and down Jon's tightly wound form. “Oxytocin is also associated with maternal instincts, as well as sexual pair bonding, which might help to explain any...urges you're feeling.”

Jon feels the flush intensify, god, he should have known Elias would have an uncanny awareness of his state of mind. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“I - I don't - ”

“It's all right, Jon,” Elias tells him, his voice low. “If you want to come here.”

Jon lets out a ragged breath. He could keep trying to deny it, but what's the point? The leather seat seems impossibly wide as he crawls across it, until he's huddled against Elias’ side. Elias’ arms go around him, as if this is what he's expected all along, and he tugs Jon halfway into his lap, holding him and shushing him gently. 

“I'll take care of you,” he murmurs, and Jon would be embarrassed at how good those words make him feel, if he weren't so utterly melted into Elias’ arms. He turns his head into Elias’ chest, breathing in the scent of him and listening to the steady beating of his heart.

Elias’ house is a terraced two storey in Kensington. He guides Jon upstairs, to a well appointed guest bedroom, where he pushes Jon down on the bed and kisses him ragged, until Jon’s breath is harsh and his body is thrumming with need. Then Elias stands, pressing a hand to the center of Jon’s chest.

“I have some things I think you’ll like,” he says, his tone heated. He leaves the room, and when he returns it’s with a selection of...extremely large sex toys. Not one of them is less than ten inches long, and correspondingly girthy, and Jon feels his pulse quickening, heat crawling up his neck and over his face. 

“Take your clothes off,” Elias suggests, and Jon does, his hands trembling eagerly. Elias presses him onto his back and slides a couple of fingers inside him easily, his other hand resting on Jon’s heaving chest. 

“Still so wide open for me,” Elias murmurs. “And so slick. Those creatures certainly intended you to be fucked repeatedly.”

Jon shivers at his words, canting his hips up to encourage Elias to give him more, push more fingers inside him. Instead, Elias selects a long, thick vibrator in translucent red, with a rounded head and a ribbed body. He turns it on to the lowest setting and presses it against Jon’s pelvis, rubbing it along his hardening cock. Jon moans, thrusting against it. Elias smiles. 

“You need this, don’t you?” he says, his voice wondering. “You need to be filled up entirely.”

“Yes,” Jon gasps, too desperate to pretend. Elias slicks the vibrator with lube and presses the blunt head against Jon’s tender hole. Jon groans at the sensation, feeling his rectum stretch easily, welcoming the intrusion. The toy slides inside, and oh, god, this fills him, this is what he so desperately needs, the vibrations shivering through him in waves of intense arousal. It slides further into him, deep, so deep, and Jon splays his legs as wide as he can, feeling his arse flex around the penetrating length. Elias turns up the vibrations, one, two, three settings, and Jon clenches desperately around it.

“Ahh...ahh...” he whimpers, and Elias smiles, his other hand petting over Jon’s belly. 

“Does that feel good?” he asks. Jon nods frantically. Elias leans down and kisses him, deeply, his tongue exploring Jon’s mouth until he’s moaning. Then he pulls back. 

“Would you like me to fuck your mouth, and come down your throat?” 

“God, _ please, _ Elias,” Jon groans, and Elias unbuckles his belt. He guides Jon’s hands to the deliciously impaling length of the vibrator, closing them around it. 

“Keep fucking yourself with this, Jon,” he instructs. Then he straddles Jon’s chest, fully dressed but for his erect cock standing proud of his trousers, almost touching Jon’s mouth. He rubs it against Jon’s lips and Jon moans, because the scent of Elias is too much for him to handle, he needs Elias closer, inside him, _please. _He parts his lips to take the head between them and Elias allows it, gently feeding Jon his cock inch by inch while his other hand brushes the hair back from Jon’s forehead. 

“Shhh,” he whispers as Jon whines desperately for him. “Shhh, I’m here.”

His cock presses into the back of Jon’s mouth, over his tongue and past his soft palate, prodding at Jon’s uvula. Jon groans in pleasure, his throat opening to let Elias in, breathing noisily through his nose. His eyes are watering, and Elias strokes his cheeks, his hair, tells him how well he’s doing as he thrusts, gentle but firm, down Jon’s throat. Jon is fucking himself desperately with the vibrator, grinding down on it hard as he can, as waves of pleasure shudder through him, rising and rising. His climax sweeps over him with breathless intensity, his hips jerking frantically off the bed while his upper body is pinned under Elias’ weight. He gives a strangled cry, his throat contracting around Elias’ cock, and Elias thrusts deeper and comes with a soft grunt, semen spilling down Jon’s hungry throat. 

Elias thrusts a few more times, the sensation comforting as he strokes Jon’s face. Then he withdraws, and takes the vibrator in hand, switching it off and sliding it out. Jon whimpers a little at the loss, his body utterly spent and exhausted. Elias tuts gently, and presses his thumb against Jon’s hole, circling the stretched muscle. 

“Don’t worry, Jon,” he says. “I won’t leave you empty for long.”

Jon takes a shower in Elias’ slate walled wet room, standing under the hot spray for too long as he tries desperately to talk sense into himself. This is insane. He can’t go through with it. He can’t just stay in Elias’ house and - and wait to see what happens. He can’t keep letting Elias fuck him, god, he’s never had any carnal desires towards the man before today, and now the mere thought of him makes Jon’s mouth water, his cock twitching between his legs. What did Elias call it? _ Sexual pair bonding? _ Whatever it is, it can fuck right off. Jon’s had enough. 

He emerges wrapped in a towel and steely determination, but when Elias presses him face down on the bed and slides a thick anal plug inside him, he doesn’t protest, just moans softly into the duvet. Elias disinfects and bandages the puncture wounds on his thigh, then tucks Jon insistently into bed and brings him a cup of chamomile tea. Jon drinks it, feeling peculiarly guilty at drinking tea Elias made for him, as if he’s a traitor. He falls asleep warm and exhausted, the plug a comforting weight inside him. 

The next morning he’s ravenous, and devours the omelette and toast and fruit that Elias sets in front of him. He’s never had much of an appetite, but today he wolfs it all down, while Elias watches with interest, speculating out loud on potential changes to Jon’s metabolism. After breakfast Jon gets ready to head out, feeling grimy in yesterday's clothes, and gets almost as far as the door before Elias asks:

“Where are you going?”

“To work,” Jon tells him, trying to sound as if it were perfectly obvious. “I’m feeling fine, and I might as well keep busy. I’ll come back here this evening, don’t worry.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” says Elias, stepping into his space. Jon’s pulse races, and he can’t help the pleasured sigh that escapes him when Elias’ hand cups the back of his neck. “You’re not yourself, Jon. I’m concerned what could happen if you go into work - what if you feel a sudden, inescapable urge to explore the tunnels again?”

“I wouldn’t - ” Jon protests, and then melts as Elias kisses him, pressing against Elias as close as he can, inhaling the scent of him. Elias steps back, and he feels a deep pang of loss.

“Stay here, Jon. Rest. I’ll work from home for the next few days, so you’re not alone.”

Jon nods, dazed, and takes off his coat. Elias is correct about this much at least. Jon isn’t himself, and right now he can’t trust himself. He shouldn’t trust Elias with himself either, he knows, but it doesn’t seem he has a lot of choice. And he trusts at least that Elias doesn’t want him dead. Everything else, the desire, the deep longing to put himself into Elias’ hands, is merely a side effect of what’s happening to him.

Jon texts Martin a vague excuse about investigating some phenomenon in the field, which isn’t _ precisely _ a lie, and feels guilty when Martin says to be careful and let him know if Jon needs help. _ You have no idea, _ he doesn’t respond, and instead tells Martin to make sure the trapdoor to the tunnels is locked, and _ not _ to go down there while Jon’s away. He can trust Martin with that. 

After that most of his day is idle, which is an unwelcome novelty. He spends it reading a book on esoteric rituals that he finds, taking occasional breaks to help himself from Elias’ well stocked fridge, his appetite still wolfish. He fervently ignores the pleasant fullness of the plug inside him, tries not to let his thoughts drift to Elias, upstairs in his home office, how easily Jon could go to him, get on his knees and - 

Jon really wishes he had some work to distract him. 

“I need statements,” he tells Elias later, breathless, spreadeagled on the bed with four of Elias’ fingers inside him. “I’ll feel better if I can at least do some work.”

“Of course, I’ll get you some,” says Elias, and crooks his gloved fingers in a way that sends a spike of heat through Jon’s body. He moans, and then hisses with discomfort as Elias’ thumb hooks at the rim of his hole, pressing its way inside. 

“Elias…” he gasps, his heart racing. This is too much, isn’t it? The thumb pushes in further, muscle flexing in distress.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Elias murmurs. His eyes on Jon’s are hot, and Jon nods, swallowing hard. Elias did promise, and Jon wants it, wants _ him, _ wants Elias so deep inside him they can never be parted. He loses his sense of time as Elias slowly works further and further into him, riding waves of pleasure-pain, the hot stretch and burn of it. Jon hears himself keening, high and distressed, as the widest part of Elias’ hand pushes into him, the knob of his thumb catching on the rim of Jon’s hole, and Elias is stroking his belly, telling him how good he is, how well he’s doing, and then in a rush of relief Elias is inside him. 

“Look at yourself, Jon,” Elias says, breathy and pleased, and when Jon pushes up on his elbows he can see where Elias’ hand is in him, up to the wrist. Jon is panting with exertion, sweating, and then Elias twists his hand and he moans. Elias takes Jon’s aching cock in his fist, jerks him slowly, leisurely while his hand fucks Jon in shallow motions. It’s almost too much sensation, too much pressure, Jon’s whole body shaking and straining like he’s going to fall apart, and it isn’t long before his cock is spurting over his own belly and chest, his breath coming in deep, painful gasps. 

Elias’ hand eases carefully out of him, leaving Jon trembling and empty. Elias strips off the nitrile glove, and runs his thumb around Jon’s rim, hooks both thumbs inside him, stretching him open. Oversensitized and exhausted as he is, Jon still groans at the touch. 

“Such a greedy thing,” Elias comments, and Jon bites back a sarcastic quip about whether Elias is referring to him, or his arsehole. Elias is kneeling before him, and he grasps Jon’s hips and maneuvers him up so his arse is resting on Elias’ knees, Jon’s legs over Elias’ shoulders. Elias’ cock prods at his hole, and Jon shivers. 

“I want you to do something for me, Jon,” Elias says, low and heated. “I want you to hold yourself open for me, so I can come right into that slick, hungry hole of yours.” 

Jon’s mouth goes dry at the heat in Elias’ voice, the desire in his eyes. He licks his lips, and then reaches down beneath his hips, spreads his buttocks. He probes at his own anus, the muscle hot and slippery and stretched. Jon finds he can easily slide in the tips of two fingers on each hand, hooking them around the rim, testing the muscle with his fingers. He carefully eases his fingers apart, his heart racing and his breath coming in little pants, pulling himself wide open. He looks up at Elias, whose eyes are rapt on what Jon is doing. 

“Gorgeous,” Elias breathes, and the head of his cock rubs at Jon’s rim, dipping inside and making him shiver. Jon hears the slick sound of Elias stroking his cock, feels it nudging against his anus, leaking pre-ejaculate over Jon’s fingers. He feels lightheaded with want, with the knowledge that he’s given himself up entirely to Elias’ desires. It’s oddly freeing. 

Jon hears Elias moan, and feels liquid heat spurt across his hole, and god, _ into _ him. He whimpers as the head of Elias’ cock runs around his rim, smearing his semen against Jon’s skin. Jon feels boneless and pliant, floating with pleasant exhaustion. He lets Elias roll him onto his side and spoon up behind him, slipping his still hard cock inside. Elias wraps his arms around Jon, almost tenderly, and presses two fingers past his lips. Jon lets them slide into the back of his mouth, stroking over his tongue, as he sinks back into Elias’ arms, Elias’ softening cock still nestled in his arse. The sensations are warm, and comforting, and Jon knows he shouldn’t feel safe with Elias, but right now he can’t help himself. 

The next day there’s a stack of statements, some clean clothes, and Jon’s abdomen is visibly distended. Jon wishes he could believe it’s due to overeating yesterday, but the swelling is firm to the touch, rounding his belly out beneath his ribcage. Elias is delighted, running his hands over the shape of it, palpating with his fingers until Jon bats his hands away.

“Stop it!” he snaps. “I’m not a medical specimen.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not excited about this development,” Elias breathes, his palm sliding under Jon’s jumper and curving almost reverently over his abdomen. 

“Forgive me if I’m not _ thrilled _ at confirmation that I’m a walking incubator,” Jon grumbles, and then gasps as Elias’ hands wander down to his buttocks, squeezing firmly and nudging at the plug buried between them. He lets Elias strip him and replace the plug with his cock, fucking Jon so slow and careful that he thinks he’s going to lose his mind. 

“Elias,” he groans, “Elias, please, I need more…”

Elias has just the thing, of course, and he presses a pretty blue vibrator into Jon’s hole alongside his own cock, thrusting his hips in counterpoint to his hand. Jon whines and gasps at the slide of both cocks inside him, deep and gratifying. Elias’ other hand closes around Jon's cock, and he comes almost immediately, panting and gasping as he ejaculates across his own swollen belly. Elias keeps fucking him for a while longer, until he’s moaning with overstimulation, and then he pulls out and comes over Jon’s belly, rubbing his cock in circles against it. The vibrator stays buried in Jon’s arse, making him twitch and hiss, while Elias slicks their mingled semen over Jon’s skin, gathers it on his fingers and rubs it onto Jon’s parted lips. Jon licks and sucks at his fingertips, swallows the bitter saltiness with gratitude. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Elias tells him. Jon snorts, though warm, hazy contentment washes over him at the praise. 

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he says, and goes to read a statement. 

By the third day, Jon’s appetite is gone and his abdomen is profoundly swollen. Whatever is in there is pressing down on his stomach, so he can barely tolerate liquids, and the thought of food makes him nauseous. Fortunately, food isn’t precisely necessary for him at this point, and Elias has provided plenty of statements. 

“At this rate of development, I expect the gestation won’t take much longer,” Elias comments. It’s the middle of the day, and Jon feels horribly lazy like this, lying on his side on Elias’ large sofa, with Elias spooning around him, his hands stroking over Jon’s belly. However he’s been feeling more and more fatigued since yesterday, and it’s unpleasant to stand or even sit up for long periods, with the distension pressing on his organs. Lying like this really is the most comfortable thing, and Jon can’t deny the appeal of Elias’ arms warm around him, Elias’ scent surrounding him. 

“You don’t know that,” he says. “This thing might just keep getting bigger until I explode.”

“You know I’d never let you explode, Jon,” Elias says, fond and amused. 

“You did once before - or have you forgotten the Unknowing? Six month coma ring a bell?”

“That was a fluke.”

Jon has to concede a laugh at that. Later, he’s on his hands and knees in Elias’ bed, the red vibrator buried in his arse and blowing his mind, while his face lies in Elias’ lap, Elias gently fucking his throat. Jon is whimpering and sobbing, his eyes watering as Elias’ cock pushes past his gag reflex, deeper and deeper. Elias’ hands stroke over his hair and Elias says:

“You know that I never want any harm to come to you, don’t you Jon?” 

Jon strains his neck to look up, and sees Elias gazing down at him, something soft and open in his expression. A tenderness that looks alien on his face, directed at Jon, frightening in its sincerity. Jon stares up at him, and his hand cups Jon’s jaw where it’s stretched around Elias’ cock. 

“Everything I’ve done has been for you. To make you the most perfect version of yourself.”

Jon is considering how he could possibly respond to that, when orgasm hits him like a freight train, his eyes rolling back in his head as his hips buck frantically, and by the time it’s all done and he’s lying there in Elias’ arms, savoring the taste of Elias’ come in his mouth, it’s too late to say anything. 

It happens on the fourth day. Jon wakes with a cramp in his stomach and a worried text message from Martin because he hasn’t checked in for a few days. He replies to the text to say he’s fine, just been busy, he expects to be back soon. _ If I don’t die giving birth to spiders, _ he doesn’t say. 

He doesn’t say anything about the cramp to Elias, because he’ll immediately start analyzing the symptom and touching Jon’s rounded belly, and much as he apparently craves Elias touching him these days, he still hates being fussed over. He ignores the discomfort all day, reads a statement and tries to nap through the pain, because he’s hardly slept the past couple of nights, unable to find a position that’s comfortable for more than an hour’s rest. 

What he can’t ignore, however, is when the pain goes from a cramp to a sharp stabbing, and things start _ moving _ in his swollen abdomen, shifting under the skin. Jon spares a moment to think of poor Kane on the _ Nostromo, _ and to curse his own curiosity, before pulling himself awkwardly to his feet. He makes his way stumblingly to Elias’ office, and leans heavily on the door. 

“Something’s - ahh - happening,” he manages to gasp, before the pain brings him to his knees. 

Elias is efficient and practical as always. He lays out blankets and towels on the expansive tile floor of the master bathroom, washcloths and bottles of water. He directs Jon to take his clothes off, and folds them neatly over a towel rail. 

“This is hardly the time to be thinking about sex, Elias,” Jon quips painfully. Elias smiles and strokes his hair. 

“I’m thinking about the state of your trousers when you came out of the tunnels, actually. We don’t need a repeat. Are you warm enough, or would you like me to turn up the heating?”

“No, I’m...lovely and comfortable,” Jon groans, clutching at his stomach. The movement is rapid now, squirming beneath his skin, and he realizes with muted terror that he has no idea how he’s supposed to get these things out of him. Then he feels a horrible, lurching sensation at the base of his esophagus, as if he’s about to throw up, and the pain starts crawling upwards. 

_ Oh, _ he thinks, as he starts retching. 

The first one comes tumbling out of his mouth, pale and spindly and the size of his finger, slicked with blood and saliva. Jon has a moment to be horrified that this thing was inside him before he starts retching again, his throat spasming, falling forward onto his hands and knees. And then, through the haze of pain, he has the sudden, awful realization that the agonized lurching sensation is moving downward as well. He moans in pain, and feels Elias’ hand stroking his back, murmuring that it’s going to be all right, he’s going to be fine. _ How the fuck would you know? _ he wants to snap except his whole body is cramping and contracting and there are grotesque, spindly spiders crawling out of both ends of him. 

It’s actually not quite as bad, coming out the back, since he’s been kept well stretched by Elias’ attentions over the past few days. He’d laugh at the thought if he wasn’t busy shitting out monsters. The pain is still more intense than anything he’s ever felt, as if his guts are being ripped to shreds, and maybe they are. Maybe he’s going to bleed to death here on Elias’ bathroom floor with spiders coming out of his arse, but, he thinks with vicious recrimination, at least he’ll know he _ satisfied his damn curiosity. _ He moans as his body convulses again, as legs scrabble at the inside of his throat.

There’s a brittle _ crunch _ from the floor near his face, and through the tears he sees Elias’ polished wingtip grinding down on one of the spiders, crushing it underfoot. He sees more smears of bile and pale chitin, and Elias’ other shoe catching one of the creatures as it skitters across the tile. Jon feels a surge of emotion that he can’t name or comprehend, something like horror and disgust and sick anger, but there’s no space to consider it as pain keeps wrenching through him, sharp and jagged. 

Jon has no idea how long it goes on for. All he knows is that eventually the spasms racking his body die away, leaving a dull, burning agony in its wake. He’s scarcely aware of Elias lifting him, with a strength he didn’t know the man possessed, and tucking him into a large, soft bed. Something in Jon wants to protest that he’s filthy, smeared with his own blood and fluids, he needs a shower first at least. A lot more of him just wants to curl into a ball and sob. 

Elias climbs into the bed behind him, undressed, pulling Jon against his chest. Jon presses back against him, breathing in the scent that’s become so intoxicating and familiar, these past few days. It’s impossible that he could get aroused right now, and yet his cock stirs faintly at Elias’ proximity. 

“Elias…” he rasps, his voice scarcely there at all, and grinds his hips back into Elias’, ignoring the stinging pain of his abused insides. He hears Elias’ breath catch and then quicken, kissing Jon’s neck, sucking on his earlobe, nuzzling against his jaw. Slowly, Elias’ cock hardens against him, and Jon moans painfully as it slides into him, slicked with who knows what fluids. It hurts, a burning ache where the head drags against him, but Jon wants it so badly he doesn’t care. Elias’ arms are around him and Elias’ scent is in his nostrils and Elias is deep inside him, fucking him so gently, pressing careful kisses to his shoulders. Elias grasps Jon’s cock and strokes it tenderly, and Jon whimpers as endorphins flood his brain, a haze of pleasure through the pain. He comes, gasping, in Elias’ hand, and Elias comes inside him, and then Jon is sobbing, tears streaming down his face and his chest hitching with sharp little breaths. 

“What is it?” Elias asks, and Jon laughs through his tears because, well, what _ isn’t _it?

“How many of them were there?” he asks in a choked whisper. “Those things?”

“More than you’d care to know.”

“You killed them all?”

“Of course,” says Elias after a moment. “We wouldn’t want this sort of thing happening to anyone else. And don’t worry, I’ve made arrangements for the ones in the tunnels to be taken care of.”

After a little while, Jon stops crying. And after a while longer, he falls asleep, still wrapped in Elias’ arms.

He wakes the next morning feeling...still aching and exhausted, but not as if he’s going to die. Mostly he feels restless, and weirdly unreal, as if the past few days were an embarrassing sex dream about a coworker. Not that Jon has had sex dreams about his coworkers, but well, the analogy stands. Jon takes a shower and gets dressed, and pulls himself together to go downstairs. Elias is down there, drinking coffee and reading an honest to god newspaper, because of course he does. Jon clears his throat awkwardly, and Elias looks up with one of his slight, condescending smiles. 

“I, uh, appreciate your hospitality,” says Jon, and his voice is almost human again. “But I think it’s time I got back to the Institute. I’ve been away too long already.”

“Of course,” Elias says smoothly, putting his newspaper down. He stands and walks over to Jon, into his space, and kisses him, cupping a hand to his cheek. It’s a slow, lingering kiss, but it sparks no heat in Jon’s belly, leaves his pulse steady. He smells Elias' cologne, the woody aroma of it, and nothing else. After a long moment, Elias takes a step back. 

“Ah, I - ” Jon begins, and Elias shakes his head.

“As I thought,” he says. “Now that you’re no longer...incubating, the effects are clearing from your system. Which is good. I just wanted to be sure.”

“Right,” says Jon. “I, uh - thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Well then, can I offer you a lift to work?”

“I - I think I’ll take the tube, actually,” Jon says. “Get some fresh air. The walk will do me good.”

“Very good idea,” Elias says, his tone a little too crisp. “In that case, I’ll see you in the office.”

“Yes,” says Jon, retreating towards the front door. “Right.”

“Oh, Jon?” Elias calls after him, and he pauses. 

“Yes?”

“Was it worth it? The whole experience - to Know?” Jon laughs, resigned. 

“Honestly? It was. And nobody else would understand that. But you do.”

“Always,” Elias says, and Jon remembers his fervent words, _ everything I’ve done has been for you. _ The recollection makes him flush faintly. 

“Right, well. Bye,” he says, and leaves before he can ask about it any further. There are some things that it’s best he doesn’t ever Know.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@cuttoothed](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/cuttoothed) if you'd like to yell at me for what I've done to Jon Sims. I probably deserve it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [be still, be calm, be quiet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22407007) by [fatal_drum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fatal_drum/pseuds/fatal_drum)


End file.
